Wrestling With Luchadors[Amaranta, Sola]

Played like a goddamn fiddle. That would be a way to describe the sentiment an observer would make as Amaranta failed to produce a beam energy of any note. She was well aware of that weakness, true, but damnable pride had reared it's head, and there was no turning back. Her energy was depleting, making her a prime target for retaliation on Sola's part. From above, the luchador launched himself forward, his body bolting toward her like a bullet loosed at high velocity, executing a well placed kick across the back of her head.

Tch! Under normal circumstances, her hierro would've kept her protected. Hell, she might of been able to sidestep it without issue, but her energy reserves had been compromised. It was only by merit of natural durability that Sola didn't score a knockout blow, but it definitely did send her head spinning as she stumbled onto the ground, holding the side of her head. She was livid, but she wasn't going to cry foul, either. After all, she wasn't into all that shit about honorable tactics in a battle.

A win was a win, especially in battles with your life on the line. To begin with, Amaranta expected him to resort to that, and he actually played her at one game. Her pride. Still, she wasn't going to go down without a fight. Growling and steadying her body, she raises her fist upward, shifting towards him to launch a haymaker to his stupid face. The kick was dizzying enough, though, and that strike wasn't guaranteed to hit in any sense.

"Wear me out... so... you can strike me down, huh? Afraid to beat me when I'm at peak condition...? Couldn't even knock me out with that sorry ass attempt..."

As much as she hated to admit it, she had indeed fell for it. She recalled another time where that streaming brat had pulled one over on her and played at her pride to, and now Sola was the second. Somewhere in her subconscious mind, she hoped that there wouldn't be a third time's a charm shtick. Even so, right now, she'd made her bed and now she was laying in it. That haymaker wasn't even her best work, and already the arrancar was soaring in for a well-timed counter. A fist right to her face, and then another, and then another one after that.

From the face to the head, he was aiming and locating his fists at any and every part of her head he could find, and all she could do to keep herself conscious at this point was to place her shoulders up in an attempt to keep him from landing anything that'd knock her down for the count. She wasn't going to fall here, and let this bastard get one over on her.

Grabbing onto his wrists with all the will and strength she could muster, she attempted to pull him onto the ground and keep him in a stationary position. If that whiffed there wasn't much to stop him from landing a decisive blow or two and taking this round, regardless of her will to keep going.

"Heh... that the best you got? You hit just like you look.... Like a girl."

"Krkh!"

One headbutt straight to the head, and the leonine woman is already seeing a cascade of bright stars and colors. Is this what it feels like to get knocked out? No, hell no. Fuck that. She's not trying to fall out without some form of resistance. Her head is clearly in pain, her words are slurring, but like a wild beast who isn't trying to go down, she grabs onto his leg. Honestly, she could drag her way back up, and try attacking him but she can't see anything clearly. All she sees is a leg.

Without a moment of hesitation, she bares her fangs and sinks her teeth right into that leg. An eye for an eye. A neck for a... leg? Whatever. She's biting into his leg, and desperately clawing to keep the other one down so he won't kick her anymore, pulling at it so she's compromising his movement. It wasn't as saucy as the neck bite he attempted, but that wasn't her aim. She just wanted to leave her mark on this bastard who played her like a fiddle.

Amaranta honestly hated the fact he was playing fisticuffs with her face. Bastard was lucky she could regenerate all those bruises, else she'd probably want to beat him within an inch of his life. Was she vain? Yeah, a little. She knew she had good looks, and she wasn't trying to look like Frankenstein after getting beaten senseless. Of course, she's well aware HALF of it is her fault. She's not going down without a fight.

She's biting into his leg with a relentless aggression, but this bastard isn't trying to give up. What did she expect, though? He took crotch shots like a fucking pro. Of course he wasn't going to go down from a bite. Biting here ain't gonna work for long if she's getting punched senseless. Pulling her mouth away, her mouth stained with his blood, she grabs at his fists and collapses onto him like a drunkard out of their mind.

Dizzied, near the brink of consciousness, but she's aiming to land one more good hit in. If he wasn't going to fall from that, then it was time to hit him with a taste of his own medicine again. In a desperate attempt, she swings her head toward his own in order to attempt to at least reach a draw, just to give him that last adversity he craved so much. If it lands, she's out of the fight now. She'd already suffered all that concussive damage before, and bashing heads, regardless of his own durability, probably leaves her unconscious no matter the result. Either way, bloodied and bruised, she spits out a compliment for the little deceit that got him this far, in spite of her annoyance.

"Well played... Punk."

And bam, she's off into dream land. Playing out this exact fight. Except she won and she was blasting off cero like a badass, on top of destroying that damn formation.